


Parralleled

by Fauning_Over_Lahey (godrics_quill22)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Almost Sex, Confusion, Drama, Dreamfic, Dreams, F/M, Family, Fondling, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grinding, Groping, Hurt/Comfort, Kira Stiles friendship, Kissing, Loss, Love, Mates, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Minor Character Death, No actual sex, Nudity, Pack, Pack Dynamics, Pack Love, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Scalia, Scalia friendship, Sex, Supernatural - Freeform, Therapy, Unrequitted Love, Unwilling mates, Werewolf Mates, Will add more as I go, Wolf Pack Dynamics, heavy kissing, mental stress, mild violence, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-17 21:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godrics_quill22/pseuds/Fauning_Over_Lahey
Summary: It was just a dream... At least that was what Scott McCall thought it was, but after several events, he started to entertain the possibility that seeing Malia sitting naked atop the Nemeton in his latest dream, did not mean the werecoyote needed rescuing but something more... something he wasn't entirely in agreement with.





	1. Trance

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a relatively parralel universe but i will incorporate more scenes from the show while building a more Scalia-centric version of the original Script. Much will change but I don't want to ruin too much so the major events will be kept.

**CHAPTER 1: TRANCE**

**_Trance: Trance denotes any state of awareness or consciousness other than normal waking consciousness. Trance states may occur involuntarily and unbidden._**  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And you couldn’t wake up?”  
“Nope. And it was beyond terrifying. You ever hear of sleep paralysis?”  
“Uh, no, do I want to?”  
“Have you ever had a dream where you feel like you’re about to wake up but you can’t move or talk?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve had that.”  
“It happens because during REM sleep your body is basically paralyzed. It’s called sleep atonia. That way if you start dreaming about running, you don’t actually start running in your bed.”  
“That makes sense.”  
“But sometimes your mind can wake up before your body does. So for this split second, you’re actually aware that your body is paralyzed.”  
“And that’s the terrifying part.”  
“It turns your dream into a nightmare. You can feel like you’re falling, like you’re being strangled or in my case, like you’re at the center of a magical grove where human sacrifices took place.”  
“You think it means something?”  
“What if what we did that night, what if it’s still affecting us?”  
“Post-traumatic stress?”  
“Or something. But you want to know what scares me the most? I’m not even sure this is real.”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_I am running through the woods. A path I am more than certain had been carved into the Beacon Hills reserve by none other than myself and my pack, what with the number of times we have found ourselves having one business or another in these woods. And yet, it felt as though I was traveling it for the first time I my life… or this life. Not that I believe in reincarnation or any of the other stuff but then again, a year ago I didn’t believe werewolves were actually walking among people and didn’t just belong on the pages of books._

_Crazy world._

_But that is beside the point, really. The point is that these woods feel so foreign to me at all which makes absolutely no sense. I know these woods even better than I know the back of my hand._

_And yet..._

_A part of me wanted to stop and assess the situation, perhaps to ask myself why I was running barefooted and bare-chested maniacally in the reserve at this ungodly hour as though I was being chased by something… Or even why I was running at all but for the life of me, I just can’t stop running – which is really outrageous, if I want to be honest with myself._

_I just… I cannot stop. In fact, the more determined I become about slowing down it seemed the more my pace increases and it’s not like I’m sweating or feeling short of breath or anything like that. No. but somehow, and this is the really really weird part, I just know in my being, in my person, deep deep down that I have been running for some hours now. I don’t know where the conviction grew from and honestly, I don’t think it makes sense at all but I was quite certain about this… this truth._

_It feels as though I have seen the sun rise and set several times while on this destination-less journey of mine. And that thought, in and of itself, was enough to have me bursting into laughter but I don’t even feel the urge to laugh right now. All I feel like doing is running… running from whatever is coming. My body is probably going through a few hours of crisis, right? I thought to myself, not that there was someone around to talk to. I mean, how is it possible that I want to stop running but I cannot stop, I want to laugh but I just cannot laugh? Just how…?_

_Ah well I guess everyone goes through this insane shut down at least once in their lifetime, right?_

_Of course not! I just… I can’t accept this nonsense. And the confusion I am feeling now is not something I find the slightest bit amusing. This has got to be some sort of a prank by a weirdo who wants to scare me… or something. Well if their plan was to scare me, they have failed drastically although I’ll admit I’m starting to feel just a tad pissed off. I mean, I can’t remember my life before the last few minutes in this trance-like state and everything else feels like it’s happening in a blur around me and I’m watching from a bottle of some other nonsense. I should probably stop watching those funny MNET movies that show people being trapped in bottles as punishment for stuff like that because my imagination is running abnormally wild._

_At this point, I’m not even sure if the fogginess I feel is from my brain or from my surroundings but like many things I’ve realized since I came to this new reality of mine, I am quite sure it is not about to clear up._

_Of course I know who I am. Scott McCall, son of Melissa and Raphael McCall. 17 years old, captain of the cyclones, werewolf and recently upgraded to the status of a true alpha. Pfft. I remember my life from the day I grew old enough to perceive and understand things going on in my environment. I remember my best friend Stiles, his eternal crush, Lydia, my ex-girlfriend Allison… I remember, Isaac, Peter and Derek. Hell, I even remember Jenifer so of course it confused the crap out of me that I’m running around half naked in the woods at dawn._

_The thought did cross my mind that I may be reliving this moment a year ago when Peter had bitten me and I was struggling with the shift and the effects of the full moon. If I am right though, then Peter should be making an appearance to spook me sometime soon._

_And yet, I keep running. I have given up all hope of tracking time now and have even stopped trying to predict the next scene in this new reality of mine. If this was a dream, it is bound to end up in a nightmare. My inability to control my own movements even though I am wide awake, is starting to terrify me more than Peter had, a year ago._

_Peter._

_Speaking of, the former alpha was yet to make an appearance in my newfound hell. If anything, shouldn’t and wouldn’t he love to poke fun at my misfortune?_

_The leaves snapped and cracked under my bare feet and I tried for a while to just focus on the sounds from under my feet but that just lasted for a short while before I truly succumbed to this present of mine. I cannot fight this… I refuse to fight this. Besides, Deaton is around so just in case this has another meaning, I’m choosing to live it the exact same way I’m supposed to and get an interpretation from my boss when it’s all over._

_Something shifted. Something changed. Something has changed because now this path was starting to look familiar to me even though it’s the one least traveled by me and with every stride, it looked even more familiar till I found myself in a clearing. My senses caught on to my surroundings before my lips did, and that is when I noticed I wasn’t running anymore, and no longer did I feel like I was being chased._

_I close my eyes and take in a very deep breath, letting it out very slowly and savoring the feeling that washed afresh over me. No, it doesn’t feel like I’m being chased now. It feels like I am the one doing the chasing. I looked up ahead at the infamous tree stamp in the middle of the clearing and remembered it from the sacrifice._

_The Nemeton._

_The Root Cellar._

_It was where Jenifer had kept our parents on the night of the lunar eclipse. I don’t remember coming here that night, because I had been busy in the old distillery and yet… and yet I keep getting this feeling that this is exactly where I am supposed to be at this very exact time._

_And that’s when I saw it… her. There is a silhouette of what is quite obviously, a girl, seated on the Nemeton and even though I hoped this was a stroke from destiny telling me Allison and I are meant to be together forever, I knew Allison’s body too well to think that was her. Her hair was different, and her shoulders were a little broader that Allison’s and the back was definitely a lot more dented than Allison’s... Her skin was tan as compared to Allison’s pale one. Conclusion: that is definitely not Allison but it isn’t someone I know either._

_I move a little reluctantly towards the tree stamp and picked up from her heartbeat the moment she became aware of my presence behind her and yet she sat ramrod straight, unmoving… and from what I can see, very naked._

_My feet moved of their own volition as if independent from my body and ignoring how rude it would be to gaze upon someone in their nude state, especially someone of the opposite sex, I carefully made my way around the tree stamp._

_Or I tried._

_I walk, a foot before the other, carefully and for a long time and I still couldn’t see her face. It’s as if the tree is shifting and moving as I moved. My curiosity got the best of me and shirking off all manner and grace, I started to walk briskly, and not that it did me any good. Giving up, I just stood there, eyes fixed on her naked back and finally finding my voice, I asked; “Who are you?”_

_She sat still, unmoving, unresponsive._

_“I’m Scott… who are you?”_

_She turned her head slowly and just enough so I can see half of her face. She’s beautiful, I’ll acknowledge that although why her beauty was important, I can’t tell. It does not explain, however, why I’m here and why she’s sitting naked on a tree stump that I am sure is contaminated by several viruses._

_Wait, another virgin sacrifice? My mind reeled._

_With a frown, I crane my neck, hoping to catch a better glance at her. If I’m somehow supposed to save or protect her, I might as well know what she really looks like._

_And that’s when I saw them. Her eyes. That unnatural, icy blue color that Derek Hale used to have. Exactly like that. “You’re a werewolf.” I whisper mostly to myself… a werewolf sacrifice?_  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Slowly, and unusually gently, for situations like these, Scott was brought back awake. He was in his bed, wearing just his sweatpants and covered in sweat. That wasn’t the only thing he noticed when he woke up. His arm was burning right around his tattoo, much like it did when he had first gotten it. Panicked, he shot up into a sitting position, eyes locked on the tattoo for several minutes until he was quite sure it wasn’t disappearing like it did the last time.

Breathing a sigh of relief only to frown again. Stiles had said he’d been having dreams inside of dreams from the text he had gotten from his best friend the night before. Perhaps he wasn’t fully awake yet, he wondered doubtfully and looked at his palms. Nothing was certain, nothing was clear but he couldn’t just wait for another dream to end.

He flicked his fingers and claws shot out almost instantly. Closing his eyes, he curled his fingers into his palm and purposely dug his nails in till he was sure he was really awake. He made to get up from bed when Isaac burst through his door with a displeased look on his face. “What do you think you’re doing? I could smell the blood from my room.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Scott replied, earnestly sorry and still unsure if he’s awake.

“You didn’t really give me an answer though.” Isaac probed gently.

“Oh right. Stiles said something about dreaming and waking up in another dream and I wanted to be sure I’m really awake.” He offered as an explanation.

Isaac nodded in understanding for a while before squinting at Scott. “You had a dream?”

“I know right? And I remember everything I saw and felt too. It feels so vivid.”

“I can understand your panic, considering you hardly ever remember your dreams but stop hurting yourself. Your mom’s making breakfast. We should go down and help her. It might take your mind away from your dreams for a little bit.” Isaac offered in an attempt at being helpful. He was quite aware that he was awake. In fact, he has been awake for about an hour now but he knew more than anyone, not to undermine someone’s psychological distress. “Besides, even if it’s another dream, I don’t think any horrors can happen in the dining room.”

Scott smiled appreciatively at Isaac. Of course he understood what the beta was doing, or trying to do, at least and he really appreciated it. He walked to his closet and wiped his bloody hands clean, pulling on a sleeveless shirt and heading downstairs with Isaac. 

He made a mental note to tell Stiles all about his dream and if necessary, ask Deaton for what it could mean.


	2. Contingency

**CHAPTER 2: CONTINGENCY**

**_Contingency: A future event or circumstance which is possible but cannot be predicted with certainty._**  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Allison had hoped to have a pretty normal day so she was quite rattled when she came to and saw Lydia standing in front of her with a worried look plastered on her face. “Allison, are you okay? Hey.” The strawberry blond inquired out of worry for her best friend. Of course she wasn’t alright. Hallucination is never a good thing and it is absolutely the worst when you keep seeing visions of your very dead relatives.

“Yeah I’m fine.” She replied mostly out of default rather than from anything else. Besides, the last thing she wanted to do was ruin Lydia’s day by getting her worried unnecessarily about things that will eventually fix themselves.

“You don’t look too good to me. Spit it out.” Lydia did not look like she was ready to talk much, nor take _‘I’m okay’_ for an answer.

“I’ve just been hallucinating for the past few weeks, that’s all.” She replied in an off-hand manner but the look on Lydia’s face told her she was not buying it and she better spit it all out or risk her screaming her ears bloody. “Well, they are usually about my aunt, Kate… you know her? Peter slit her throat a while back. She’s not threatening my life or anything, mostly just crazy stuff and threatening other people’s lives.” She mumbled almost guiltily when she recalled some of her very vivid dreams with her aunty.

“Sounds like her...” Lydia commented then grabbed Allison by the hand. “Let’s find the others. We have about 10 minutes before our first class.

Scott dismounted his bike and pulled his helmet off only to be met with a sight... well, he didn’t appreciate. Blinking, he cleared the perceived image from his sight and proceeded towards the entrance of the school. He had made a mental note on his way to school to have a talk with Isaac later and apologize for hauling him against the wall earlier. No, he wasn’t sorry about that but he wanted to make sure the previously abused boy didn’t still have the mentality that he deserves to be beaten every time he displeased someone. The moment he snapped out of his thoughts, he was confronted by his own shadow. _Literally._

He hopped, jumped, closed his eyes and opened them again and yet the shadow only seemed to get bigger. This hallucination, _if it really is a hallucination_ , was determined not to be pushed back and before he could help it, he took off at a run in which way, and towards what, he had no idea. All he knew was that he wanted to get away from his shadow. He bumped into something and turned towards it but it took a while to focus on his best friend’s face. “Hey, you alright? You don’t look alright, Scott.” Stiles asked, then answered his own question as was his usual norm.

“I’m okay.” Scott had no idea why he was denying this when he had been caught right in the act of panic but he has always been the optimistic idiot so that must be it. _Going back to my roots and all that crap._

“No you’re not. It’s happening to you too. You’re seeing things aren’t you?” Stiles deadpanned. He was having his own share of terrors so it wasn’t exactly new to him. He had had a total of 6 dreams – nightmares, really – last night and woken up from 5 of them only to realize he was still locked in another dream and dreading the reality that was staring at him even after he had woken up thrashing in his bed, screams tearing past his already sore throat and his father trying to restrain and comfort him the best he could. He imagine he had been screaming longer than he had realized judging by the soreness of his throat when he woke up.

“How’d you know?” Scott asked, although he was realizing again the conversation he had had with Stiles the previous night before he had gone to sleep.

“Because it’s happening to all three of you?” Lydia responded from behind the boys, joining them, Allison in tow.

“What d’you mean?” Scott asked. He was slowly starting to acknowledge the fact that Allison must be feeling the same distress and facing the same things since she had been part of the sacrifice too.

“Allison keeps seeing visions of Kate. Y’know… the psychotic killer who got her throat ripped out by Peter, remember her?” Lydia responded with a smile. 

“You think that could mean something?” Scott asked, hoping it didn’t.

“Something like what? Like we’re going to be visited by ghosts soon?” Stiles wished he was only joking but considering what Deaton had said about Beacon Hills being an actual beacon, he couldn’t put this level of craziness past it.

“I don’t know…” Scott mumbled then upon second thought, added. “I mean, I had a strange dream last night. I was running through the woods, much like I had after Peter bit me. You know, those mornings when you came to pick me up in the preserve and I’m not wearing any clothes because I was sleep walking?” He looked to Stiles for a nod of acknowledgement and continued when he got it. “Well, I was just running… for no reason, and even though I wanted to stop, I just couldn’t stop until well, until I got to the Nemeton.”

“Right. Because that’s where we all end up eventually.” Stiles chipped in, almost bitterly.

Scott gave him a wistful smile before continuing. “And then well, suddenly I stopped and then I wasn’t running away anymore but I was being pulled towards the tree. There was a girl seated on there. I couldn’t see her face at first but I could tell she was naked even from where I was standing even though her hair was long and covered most of her back.”

“Urgh… Is that even healthy?” Stiles tried as much as he could to not let his imagination get the best of him but it didn’t look like he was succeeding.

“Are you sure this is not an erotic dream?” Lydia asked. “I mean, I’m all for erotica but it’s too early.” She ignored Allison’s scoff of disagreement from beside her. It was obvious to her what Allison meant by that but she was going to ignore it and choose the ‘no comment’ option, if available. Apparently, it was.

“No it’s not. You think I’ll be sharing that with you?” He looked guiltily at Allison. “After a while of trying though I could only see a part of her face. And her eyes. They were the colour of Derek’s.”

“So she’s a werewolf.” Allison chipped in. 

“I dunno… I think so. I mean, she has to be but I have no idea what the dream was or what it meant.” Scott sighed, a little frustrated.

“Well we can ask Deaton after school. That is, if we manage to come out alive.” Stiles decided for the rest of the group and tapped Scott on the shoulder to get him moving otherwise they were going to be late for their first class. Allison and Lydia followed, a silent communication among them.

Lydia threw open the doors of the main entrance into the school, wearing a smile on her face. “Well well, look who’s no longer the crazy one.” Something about it thrilled her more than she’d like to admit.

“We’re not crazy.” Allison said, more to herself than to Lydia. She’d love to believe that.

Lydia turned around to face them, nodding lightly. “Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis? Yeah you guys are fine.”

“We did die and come back to life. That’s got to have some side effects, right?” Scott managed with a clear head. He had no idea the effects would be to this extent when he signed up for it but he imagined even if he knew, he wouldn’t have chosen any different so he can’t possibly complain.

“We keep an eye on each other okay?” Stiles offered when the bell rung again to signal the start of class, heading to history class. “And Lydia, stop enjoying this so much.”

“What?” _She hadn’t been that obvious, had she?_

“Good morning, everyone.” The _–apparently–_ new History teacher turned around to face the class. “My name is Mr. Yukimura. I’ll be taking over for your previous history teacher. My family and I moved here three weeks ago. I’m sure by now, you all know my daughter, Kira. Or you might not, since she’s never actually mentioned anyone from school, or brought home a friend for that matter.” Scott head the sound in the back of the class but didn’t turn. “Either way, there she is.” Mr. Yukimura finished.

This time, the alpha turned and saw her. She’s pretty, he thought to himself as his smile widened. He berated himself mentally for noticing only whether or not girls are pretty. First the naked girl on the Nemeton and now the Chinese… Asian girl in class.

To say the day was good would be like well, thanking someone for shooting you in the foot. Meaning, it was bad.

There was nothing good at all about the day and all three willed it to end faster but then the terror came that if the day ended, then they’d have to fall asleep and who knew the horrors awaiting them in their sleep. None of them wanted to keep having these visions and somehow, for a very weird reason, they each knew it would take a stroke of some almighty or a deity before they stopped having them and unless they were ready to visit shrines and wash their feet while bowing to Buddha or Gandhi, then they were stuck in this predicament forever.

Lunch time saw them seated around a table, normal and abnormal alike. Normal being Lydia and Isaac and abnormal being… well, the participants of the faux sacrifice. It’s not normal to be talking about hallucinations while munching on burgers but since this has become their new normal, they might as well just embrace it.

“Hi.” She said, the girl from History class, standing awkwardly at the head of their table. “Hi.” She repeated when everyone just looked at her surprised. Well, they expected Danny to join them but aside him, no one else from school. Perhaps Rafael McCall had been right when he had called them a clique. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing what you guys were talking about and I think I might actually know what you’re talking about. There’s a Tibetan word for it. It’s called “Bardo”. It literally means in-between state. The state between life and death.”

“And what do they call you?” Lydia had to ask, of course. If she was going to share her vast knowledge with someone, it better be with someone she knew at least their name.

“Kira.” It wasn’t the girl that responded, it was Scott, which earned him curious looks from across the table. “She’s in our history class.” He offered as an explanation although Stiles didn’t seem ready to back him up on that but the girl, Kira, took that as an invitation to sit and share knowledge.

“So are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?” Lydia had to make sure she at least knew what she was feeding to the pack. it was her personal 

“Either, I guess. But all the stuff you guys were saying? All that happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you hear. And you can be visited by peaceful and wrathful deities.”

“Wrathful deities.” Because that’s all Isaac Lahey heard. “And what are those?”

“Like demons.” Weird gird said with a smile. She really said that with a smile, much to everyone’s chagrin. Well, except Scott. He was just pleased she was making friends like her father said she wanted. And not to brag but his group of friends were the best this town had to offer. Subjectively speaking, of course.

“Demons, why not?” Stiles asked sarcastically.

“Hold on, if there are different progressive states, then what’s the last one?” Trust Allison to ask the important questions.

“Death.” Weird girl was smiling again. “You die.” She affirmed.

The rest of the day went by as dramatically as it had begun, hallucinations, slipping into a reverie and literally having a nightmare in the middle of class and after that unhelpful, and quite frankly, terrifying, talk with Deaton, Scott and Stiles were feeling the most hopeless they had felt in ages.

It was dark out, which meant he was ready to fall asleep but apparently, the world had other plans. “Why me?” Scott asked the sheriff who was wearing a very hopeful look on his face. The kind he really did not feel like seeing right now. What with him not being able to control his shifting and all the mental stress he was currently going through. He could sure use a break.

“Because, eight years ago, almost an entire family died in a car accident. One of the bodies, a young girl named Malia, was never found. There’s enough evidence to have me thinking that a werewolf could have caused that accident, and then dragged her body away. If you could somehow get a lock on her scent, if you could somehow help me find the body, it might provide the missing clue.”

It was several things that made Scott agree to help the sheriff. Aside the desperation he heard in the man’s voice and the silent look that passed from father to son, something inside him had stirred when he had heard the girl’s name.

**Malia.**


	3. Apperception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack rescues Malia...

**CHAPTER 3: APPERCEPTION**

**_Apperception: A mental process by which a person makes sense of an idea by assimilating it to the body of ideas he or she already possesses._ **

Scott had agreed to go with Stiles and the Sheriff to the Tate household and well… peruse around. Per the Sheriff’s plan, he was going to do whatever was necessary to keep Mr. Tate occupied while he and Stiles went through the house and found Malia’s room… or at least traces of anything he can use to trace her scent. It was a poor plan to begin with, what with it being eight years since the girl was last in the house but he couldn’t point that out. 

And truthfully speaking, Stiles was the mastermind. He’s leagues smarter than him so if Stiles wasn’t calling his dad up on it, then there must be a really good reason why and he figured he could ask that when he and Stiles were alone. Something must be going on in the Stilinski household he wasn’t privy to. Which, of course, is weird because Stiles told him everything from the time his dad took a shower to the color socks he wore that day to work. Building the perfect alibi, he had called it.

Because apparently, there was nothing stronger than saying “you can ask Scott. I tell him everything.” And having Scott know everything. Stiles thought it would be funny to see the face of the interrogating officers if their statements match even though they have been monitored and asked the questions in several different ways.

And so, yes, he went with them and yes, as he had predicted, he got nothing from the house. He waited for the sheriff to leave and hopped right into the interrogation zone. Needless to say, he did not like what Stiles told him. It was just his luck that his father, the object of his current immense bout of disdain, was waiting for him when he got home. And to think he was planning on giving the man a chance.

Rafael McCall had been absent for most of his life. Every once in a while, he flashed by town long enough for Scott to catch glimpses of his face and know what his dad looked like but aside that, there was nothing more. He was a father to Scott as much as Coach was a father to Greenberg. Meaning, he was not even qualified to be a father and yet, this time around, because he stayed longer, because he bothered to come by the house, Scott was thinking he was perhaps looking to mend bridges and reconnect with his family.

Only to find out his real motive for coming back into town and staying for as long as he had. “I’m conducting a case for impeachment.” He had said. Sounded a lot like getting the sheriff fired no matter how you look at it and how many times you try to justify it. The sheriff had been doing a decent job considering he had had only bits of the information but with the new perspective, and just a little more time, Scott was sure he would be able to close cases… or at least, he would know how to write some cases off without the usual stare into the darkness feel they had.

Maybe it was guilt that moved him, and maybe it was anger at his father for… well, doing his job but he didn’t care. Since the sheriff was sure Malia had died 8 years ago, he was going out to find the bones of the dead girl. Except, what he found was not what he had hoped for.

He found her. Malia.

Not dead, but very much alive.

He followed her scent all the way into the woods till he found her den. It wasn’t much of a home but he imagined it was just around the qualifications needed for a werecoyote to live a very peaceful life. Scott and Stiles decided, with a little reluctance, to call the sheriff and give them the lead they had found. Mali’s jacket and the doll in the den were enough to name the den a crime scene. Besides, after they entered the den, there was just no way she was coming back into the place.

Besides, “Well, that could narrow it down. Coyotes travel in fixed trails. But I think you’re right about her not going back to the den. Coyotes hate wolves. And they’re really smart. If they don’t want to be heard, they actually walk on their toes.” Allison informed them before rushing off to her next class. Stiles hurried to his seat. He had this weird obsession with not being late for class. Which means he has to be seated before the teacher walks in… or at least before the teacher officially starts teaching.

Scott turned around and bumped into Kira and the conversation that ensued was short, but quite informative. He couldn’t help smiling but he also couldn’t help thinking that if Mr. Yukimura was his father, he would probably quit the school and chase other prospects elsewhere. What kind of father took this amount of joy in embarrassing his own daughter? While wearing an innocent look. He could smell the embarrassment on her long after she had sat down but stopped himself from looking back at her in order not to embarrass her further.

Sheriff Stilinski was having a hard time accepting all this. Well, he was trying hard to but the part of his mind that has been programmed to accept only scientific facts and empirical evidence, was battling with this newfound knowledge about the supernatural. He was particularly having trouble in accepting that Malia was the coyote going around… well, terrorizing students.

The coyote had broken into the Beacon Hills high school, literally, and gone after a student for no apparent reason. Scott and Stile had both found no reason to give him and he felt the walls were closing in on him. His knowledge of the supernatural world was not proving helpful to this particular case. Perhaps he should have chosen a different case to reopen.

Perhaps.

It was Henry Tate that as beginning to worry him. Walking into a high school with a gun, loaded or not, licensed or not, was not acceptable and with his shifting mental state, he was afraid of what the man was capable of doing. He looked ready to kill and the Sheriff felt bad for dragging out all the emotions out of him that he was doing well to bury. He was starting to feel the urgency of closing this particular case. For the sanity of all those involved.

Including himself.

“Xylazine. It’s a tranquilizer for horses. For a werecoyote, expect it to work in seconds. I only have three so whoever’s shooting, needs to be a damn good shot.” Deaton says as he dropped the vials onto the table. The boys had come to him, again. He was starting to psych himself for these frequent consultations and he might as well come out of his retirement and become a full-time emissary for the McCall pack considering none of them knew what was going on, and the ones who might, are not in town at the moment.

“Allison’s a perfect shot.” Scott replied with confidence.

“She used to be.” Isaac offered a more realistic point of view.

“She can do it.” Because apparently, Scott’s resolution to be a blindly optimistic person was still in full gear in spite of the incident after Jenifer had taken his mother. That was just a simple lapse in judgment. Nothing serious.

“If we manage to find the thing.” Because apparently, Isaac Lahey’s resolution to be the most realistic teen on the surface of the earth is just as strong as Scott’s resolution to be optimistic.

“Okay, what is the point of him?” Stiles asked, a little irritated as he points in the general direction of Isaac. “I mean seriously, what is his purpose? Aside from the persistent negativity and the scarf? What’s up with the scarf anyway? It’s 65 degrees out.” Stiles couldn’t help pointing out the oddity that was Isaac Lahey’s existence.

Unfazed by Stiles, because if Isaac was going to be honest, he really truly appreciated it when he was treated like a normal kid. The last thing he wanted was for everyone he knew to start treating him like a fragile person about to break just because he had an abusive past and from that awkward conversation he had had with Scott the previous day where the alpha apologized for hauling him against the wall and tried to offer psychological help, he was sure the tendency to treat him as a fragile china would pop up sometime so yes, he truly appreciated Stiles being… well, Stiles. “Look, maybe I’m asking a question no one here wants to ask but how do we turn a coyote back into a girl, when she hasn’t been a girl for eight years?”

“I can do it.” Again, with the optimistic talk.

This time, Stiles was the one who had trouble believing. “You can?”

The alpha nodded. “You remember that night that Peter trapped us in the school? In the gym, he was able to make me turn using just his voice. Deucalion did the same thing in the distillery.” He explained.

Not to rain on Scott’s parade but hoping for clarification, Deaton felt the need to point out: “This is a werecoyote, Scott. Who knows if it’ll even work if you can find someone who can teach you?”

“That’s why you called Derek first.” It all made sense to Stiles now, but of course this is Derek Hale. He never is around when you need him. Mostly. Well, few times, but who was counting?

“Yeah I could try it on my own but right now I’m too scared to even change into just a werewolf.”

“We need a real alpha.” Stiles offered and at the collective looks of disbelief he got, explained his statement. “You know, an alpha who can do alpha things. You know, an alpha who can get it going. You know, get it…”

“Up?” Isaac offered helpfully when it seemed Stiles was struggling for a word.

“Great. I’m an alpha with performance issues.” Scott mumbled in a morose tone but he wasn’t entirely sad about this discovery of his. No, for from it. He actually was quite aware of it. He has done absolutely nothing to earn this role. Those that become an alpha because they are born werewolves, have had their entire lifetimes to perfect this mythical world of werewolves and pack dynamics and those that killed their alphas to become one, at least had some form of ambition, drive and knowledge because he imagined it won’t be that easy to kill one’s own alpha.

And of course, there was him.

Deaton called it becoming an alpha out of the sheer power of one’s will. A ton of good that did him. All he knew how to do, was restraining himself from killing people, even those who deserve it. And he imagined Malia would really appreciate that trait right now but that did not change the fact that he still had a lot to learn and Derek was nowhere to be found.

And so, after much deliberation, it was decided that his next best option was not Peter, but the twins: Ethan and Aiden but after thirty minutes with them, Scott was wishing he had opted for Peter instead. At least the alpha-hungry werewolf would have spent some time teaching him a few things – because let’s face it, Peter loved hearing the sound of his own voice and reveled in his knowledge about these things, especially when the ‘kids’ came to him for a consultation – before beating the crap out of him.

XXxXxXxXxX

Yes, a part of him agreed with Lydia that they may be doing more harm than good considering their collective malfunctioning as a team at the moment but Scott beyond reasoning when he heard the gunshot ring out. He hopped onto his bike and zoomed off into the woods. He figured Mr. Tate would really hate himself if he ended up shooting his own child. He’s probably going to put a bullet through his own head and the Sheriff would feel eternally guilty for reopening this case.

Which consequentially meant that Stiles would be affected and so would he, and the rest of the pack. The way he saw it, there was no other choice except this one. A scream he identified to be Isaac’s tore through the air, the unexpectedness of it, toppling him off his bike. He didn’t have enough time to lay there and worry about his beta because he caught a glimpse of the coyote and instinctively took off after her. He tried as hard as he can to stop himself from shifting but with every step he took, and with every meter he covered, he could hear the voices of the twins echoing in his head, the sound of Aiden’s roar just that afternoon, the freedom he had seen on their faces:

**“You do it by giving in. By giving in and letting go. That’s how Deucalion taught us control.”** He took more determined steps after her. **“You’re afraid to turn. We’re going to make you. You turn, and then you kick our asses. And then you roar.”** His breathing was starting to seriously become uneven. **“Come on, McCall. Give it your all. You’re an alpha. You want to roar like one, you’ve got to give in full throttle. You’ve got to be the monster, become the beast. Become everything you’re afraid of becoming. That’s what gives you power. It gives you strength.”**

Scott leaped across the landscape and over the car wreck and when he landed on all fours, he was exactly that. The fear of giving in was gone and the worry of not being able to shift back into his human form was nowhere to be found. All that was left was Malia and the words: **“Giving into it doesn’t make you the bad guy, so long as you can control it.”** He let go. And gave in, and taking a deep breath, allowed himself to roar. The roar that tore past his throat was nothing like he had ever experienced and the whimpering coyote before him was evidence of that truth.

Elsewhere, Isaac’s eyes glowed amber as the roar forced him to shift, gathering enough strength to pull the animal trap that had caught his left foot and Stiles turned around with an approving Smile. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He made a mental not to compliment his best friend for resolving his performance issues, later. Much later.

Scott, however, was encountering several levels of dumbfounded-ness as he watched the sight before him. It was not the sight of the naked girl that left him gob smacked but the realization that he knew that back, right from the deep ridges to the dirty blonde hair. He knew that back and when she turned her face to the side and offered him a side view, he did a double take and fell back on his bum for a while.

It was her. It was definitely the girl from his dream. Malia. He finally had the answer to the question he had asked her in his dream. Her name was Malia Tate.

The alpha blinked, then blinked again before realizing the situation he was in, he peeled off his jacket and moved cautiously towards her, mumbling “I won’t hurt you.” as he went and draped the jacket over her shoulders. He peeled off his singlet and held it out to her. “I think you can wear it as a skirt. I mean, before the sheriff and his deputies get here.” He offered helpfully and even though she still looked dazed, she took the singlet from him and when he turned back around, he realized she had done what he had told her.

He sat down a few feet away from her, not wanting to startle her. He was starting to feel the chill in the air but couldn’t quite bring himself to regret giving her his clothes to wear. “You’re Malia right?” He tried in a light tone. She stared blankly at him for what felt like a year before nodding in acknowledgement. “I’m Scott. Scott McCall.” He felt the need to introduce himself.

And then they fell silent again. He thought to himself that perhaps this was the meaning of the dream. That he achieved his aim, and after the sheriff had come for the girl, he told the rest of the pack the same thing.

“So does that mean you’ll be getting dreams about everyone in danger?” Isaac asked with a frown.

“Kinda like me.” Lydia chipped in with a smile. She must admit she might actually like that.

“I hope this is it.” Scott muttered.

“Could be.” Allison offered. “I mean, in Merlin, the TV series after Arthur killed the unicorn and a plague fell on Camelot, he was given several tests and it was after he passed the last one that the land was free again from the plague.”

“So basically, the hallucinations might stop now because we helped to return a daughter to her father?” Stiles wished it was as simple as that.

“Hopefully.” Was Allison’s hopeful response.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia is home, but the reunion between father and daughter isn't as sweet as one would expect.

**CHAPTER 4: BATTLE FATIGUE.**

**_Battle Fatigue:_ ** _A post-traumatic stress disorder occurring among soldiers engaged in active combat, characterized by excessive autonomic arousal, psychic numbing, and persistent reliving of traumatic experiences._

The radiance of the morning sun drifts through the windows… its rays warm the air and he could imagine the dew was melting by now into small droplets of water on the leaves. Lifting his head from the pillow, Henry Tate blinked a few times before glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was just another morning and he was right about to roll onto his side and go back to a state of unconsciousness he preferred to being awake, when the sounds and smells of the new day brought into mind the events of the past week.

Sheriff Stilinski had come by, talking to him about his dead wife and children and after that several unfortunate incidents had happened. He wasn’t proud about some of the things he did, particularly the fact that he had set traps in the woods when he was well aware that youngsters will be going for jogging through the same woods. Yesterday he had gone by the hospital to apologize to the family of the boy whose leg had been caught in one of his traps. He was an only child, his mother had informed him.

He was an only child of a widowed woman and he had nearly shattered that woman’s life much like that accident eight years ago had shattered his life. The doctors said the boy had been smart enough to avoid movement and endured the pain while waiting for the ambulance otherwise they would have had to amputate. Even though he had to be stitched and wore a cast, he was going to be able to have his leg in a few months.

The woman was just so happy to have her son, she wasn’t going to sue him, just wanted him to take care of the hospital bills. Frankly speaking, he knew he got the longer end of the stick because he imagined if someone had done that to Malia… his Malia.

He sighed deeply and sat up in bed, sliding his legs to the side of the bed and making no move to get up yet. The Sheriff had brought his girl home to him a week ago looking worse for wear and he didn’t need to be told that she was not ready to be probed and questioned about what life was like, and how she had lived her life for the last eight years.

The girl was yet to say a word to him in the last few days they have been living together and he was aware that he was somewhat of a stranger to her now, and a part of him was so eager to change that, to love his daughter as freely as he used to but somehow, he was restraining himself. He had had time two days ago, to read online about post-traumatic stress disorder and he knew enough to know that forcing his will would only cause issues to escalate. He just wanted his little girl to be alright.

Getting up finally, he trudged barefoot downstairs to fix them breakfast. He had let go of his usual breakfast – a bottle of gin – and opted for toast and juice all in the efforts of being a good father to Malia and creating a homely environment for her to be at ease and open up to him and even though she usually woke up at noon, he still made breakfast, hoping for the day she would actually come down and eat with him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxx

She wakes up gradually. A lot more gradually than was necessary because every morning for the last eight days, she has to wake up and remind herself that she was no longer a coyote but a human… a human girl.

Outside, she can hear the daily sounds of the regular clatter. The birds chirping and the rustle of the trees. She didn’t much appreciate the bright rays of sunlight that were managing every now and then, to pour in through the cracks in her curtains which was caused when the wind blew them even a little. She didn’t use to have such distractions when she was a coyote, no. her den had been so buried deep in the woods and the entrance covered by rocks so her sleep was never disturbed by trivial things like the chirping of birds and the crowing of roosters and the sun’s rays on her face.

Growling in frustration, she pulled the covers over her face. Another thing she didn’t appreciate about being human was the absence of her fur coat. Her bare skin, she has come to realize, was quite prone to feeling the cold and considering her house is surrounded by trees, it was hardly a warm zone.

Malia peeked out just a little after a while, eyes staring up at the ceiling fan and followed the movement of the blade, finding some sense of regularity in that simple routine. The screeching sound was part of her morning sounds to look forward to, she figured, considering she wasn’t as irritated by it as she had been by the sunlight flooding her sanctuary. It’s almost deceitful the more she watched them. Whenever she tried to look away, her eyes were brought back to them because they always feel like they would break and fall on top of her when she wasn’t looking but she knew enough to know that wasn’t going to happen.

And yet, she allowed herself to be deceived by the blades a bit longer. Just a little bit. Anything she can do to avoid looking at her father in the face. She knew who he was. She remembered life before the accident. She remembered how Henry looked before… well, before he looked like he’s looking now. He wreaks of depression, confusion, struggle and above all, alcohol and she knew… Malia knew, that she was to blame for this. She was the one who ruined this gentle man’s life. 

Malia stirred, stretching like a cat as she pushed the fog of guilt that had slowly gathered over her morning away. She wasn’t going to last long in this house anyway but she at least hoped she won’t kill him like she killed the others. She pushed the covers off her body in a move of rebellion but made no move to get up. She doesn’t want to get up from bed and go to the bathroom, no. she wanted to do something totally irrelevant, like going downstairs in her sleep clothes and eating that chocolate cake her father had brought home two days ago.

She hated chocolate, she realized. Well, not the entirety of it, but chocolate drinks, she can handle, chocolate flavored ice-cream and chocolate cakes, however, she saw no point of. And yet, in her mood for irrelevance, that was what she wanted to engage in. she crawls toward the edge of the bed and stares at the wall in front of her. Not that she was suddenly interested in interior design but she figured it could use a painting or an artwork. She remembered what the room was like, before and he father’s rush to rid the house of all the “old things” was painful as it was comedic. 

She smiled at the blank wall and thought the wall smiled back too. Or something to that effect. Dragging her feet, she made her way silently down the stairs. Halfway there, she heard the pick in Henry Tate’s heartbeat and the anxiety that seemed to pour out of him. He was trying so hard and that only made her feel guiltier.

“Good morning.” He greeted her from the kitchen and she stood there staring at him for what felt like hours before acknowledging the greeting with a nod. Head bowed, she headed straight for the fridge. “I’m making toast, omelet and...” The man faltered in his speech when Malia grabbed the chocolate cake he had brought home two days ago, the one she hadn’t even regarded, and started attacking it. Literally. “…Juice.” He blinked at the savage way she was devouring the piece of pastry then as if on autopilot, grabbed a glass and poured her a glass of the freshly squeezed orange juice. “I just squeezed these.”

She said nothing, and had no intention of saying anything but she figured her humanity wasn’t as lost to her as she thought it was, because when she started to catch a whiff of sadness from the man’s chemo signals, she felt her hand reach out albeit reluctantly, to grab the glass of juice and took a sip, then a gulp of it, very aware of the eager eyes watching her.

She tried to chunk that down as much as she can but it didn’t take long before a she heard a scream. A familiar scream. Her mother’s scream. She dropped the glass on the countertop and fled the room, escaping into the woods.

Henry Tate followed her into the woods long enough to see she was only going to climb a tree and go to sleep on its branches. With a wistful smile, he headed back home to make her dinner because she rarely ate lunch. He was determined not to let this feeling of helplessness consume him.  
xxxXxXxXxXxXxx

_“My doll’s prettier than yours.” Malia’s little sister jested from beside her. She enjoyed teasing Malia very much and she knew Malia didn’t mind the teasing but always engaged her in a fair bout of jealousy and petulance which usually ended in her being tickled by her elder sister till of course, their mother seeks revenge for her and starts tickling Malia. On those occasions when these tickling games happened at home, their dad joined in and gifted them with the sight of him kissing their mom affectionately. The kids would usually groan and close their eyes but were soon left giggling when he tried to force kisses on them. Tonight, however, they were driving from town, towards the house and hopefully, he’ll be there waiting for them with some juice, which really was the only thing he knew how to make._

_“That’s not true.” Malia turned to her little sister with a pout and faux frown then leaned forward between the front seats to talk to her mom. “Mom, tell her my doll isn’t ugly.”_

_Their mother laughed sweetly and turned her head just for a brief moment to say: “Sweetheart, both of your dolls are pretty.”_

_“But mine is prettier.” Her little sister wasn’t done yet._

_That’s not true. Mom said she’ll –” Malia begun to say when she heard a big bang and was lurched forward from where she was perched between the two front seats. Shuffling back, she realized her mom was face down on the steering when and the blood was oozing from her fingers which were still clutching the wheel. “Mom!” She screamed, feeling panic… and something else start to rise inside her. “Mom!!!”_

_“Malia!” Her little sister screamed from the back seat. “Mom!! What’s happening!!! Malia what’s happening to you!! I’m scared!” Malia launched at her then, claws scratching at her face and drowning out all the screams that were filling the car. The screams got louder…_

_And louder…  
And louder…_

Her eyes snapped open, long before the rest of her realized where she was and what was happening. The screams had left her throat sore and she was trembling vividly, this time not from the cold but from the vivid nature of her dream. Her sister’s face, right before she had slashed her face with her claws. Her mother’s labored breathing before she died.

The lights in her room were turned on and with unfocused eyes, she watched as her father climbed into bed with her and held her against himself. She didn’t have the strength to fear and the strength to push him away and for a moment, she was just that ten year old girl who needed her father to tell her everything was going to be alright and she didn’t have to worry one bit. “That’s okay… You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m right here. Nothing will happen to you.” The man kept whispering to her till she wasn’t writhing in bed anymore.

His grip was surprisingly strong around her and Malia dropped her head on his arm, her hands wrapped just as desperately around her father and though to draw strength from him. She stilled after a while but the gut-wrenching sobs didn’t stop. The vision of her little sister, panicked and screaming for their mother as Malia turned into a beast right before her eyes, was still replaying in her mind’s eye and doing her head in.

After several hours, the sobbing stopped and a few minutes later, Malia went to sleep.

Henry Tate carefully lay her back on the bed and pulled the covers around her sweat drenched body. It had taken all that he had, not to break down into tears as he felt the fear and agitation from his little girl. What he would do to trade places with her. She shouldn’t be going through this and whoever was responsible for this, he was going to make sure he paid drastically.

 

She didn’t come out all day and Henry Tate couldn’t bring himself to invade her space. He spent the most part of his day, standing outside her door, hearing her muffled sobs and not being able to do anything about it and this time, against his better judgment, he gave into the tears that had been threatening to spill since she had been brought back to him.

When Malia woke up at noon the next morning and pulled her door opened, it was to the heartbreaking sight of her father lying on the floor outside her door, using his hands as a pillow and his face showing evidence of crying. Careful not to wake him up, she walked outside the house and curled up under one of the trees in the yard. She was struggling more because she was in her human form and had to deal with all the pent up emotions from eight years ago. She feared she was about to cave in and she had no idea how to change back into a coyote so she resolved for the closest she can get to the feeling.

She went to sleep in the yard for two days straight.

Henry was afraid to wake her up and even afraid of disturbing her at all. He was starting to get overwhelmed by this feeling of helplessness and the fear that he would not be able to help his daughter who was going through a hard time and really needed him right now. On the third night, when it looked like she wasn’t about to wake up soon, let alone come back into the house, Henry grabbed a blanket and walked across the yard, carefully draping it over her.

Slowly and drowsily, Malia’s eyes opened and filled with tears the moment her eyes refocused on the man. She didn’t know how she was going to live the rest of her life looking into these loving eyes and knowing full well that she was the one that killed his family. The tears flowed silently without pause and sadly, she realized, so did her dad’s.

Henry reached out to brush the hair that had fallen into her face, back and resolved to call the authorities. Anyone at all who could provide more help to Malia than he can.

The next morning when the orderlies from Eichen House came, Malia was still in the yard, crying but this time, mumbling to herself. Henry’s joy at the fact that Malia hasn’t been rendered mute, was clouded by how willingly she went with the orderlies.


	5. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia is locked in Eichen...

**_CHAPTER 5: THERAPY_ **

**_Therapy:_ ** _Treatment intended to relieve or heal a disorder._

The place was weird. Well, that was Malia’s first impression of Eichen house. And her second. And third. Her impression remained unchanged after the days she spent in there. It was weird enough that from her small room, she could hear everything that was going on around her and weirder still, that everyone around her was a nutcase but she imagined that was to be expected. Eichen House was after all, a nuthouse anyway.

For the first week, she stayed away from everybody, barely ate and barely spoke to anyone. Her roommate was as weird as they came. She was always muttering to herself and Malia figured she probably wanted to be left alone just as much as she did. So for the most part, they all spent their time on their respective beds. When the doors were unlocked, they remained, and when they locked for the night, they didn’t notice either.

It was in the second week that she got a visitor. She said her name was Morrell and she wanted to talk… to make friends. Malia wondered how stupid the lady might think she is, or how mentally and emotionally vulnerable she had been told she was, but then again, considering her dad was the one who checked her in and his experience with her wasn’t all that good, she expected the hospital had on record that she was deranged… maybe the kind of madness that had a faux gentility to it.

She scoffed. She knew her for what she was, though. A shrink.

Despite that, she followed Morrell to her dingy office and nodded whiles the other lady talked on and on for an hour. The routine continued for 7 days straight, with Morrell talking and Malia nodding in acknowledgement. She didn’t want to be here. No, not at all. She wanted nothing to do with humans because the sight of them, made her feel like the worst possible kind and that feeling alone had her hauled over the toilet many a night, puking her guts out.

The next week started, and Morrell started making progress – somehow, Malia didn’t know how – and talking about things that made Malia feel like perhaps the woman knew a lot more about her, the real her, than she let on. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask her point blank but for some reason, she held herself back – which was unusual on its own because Malia Tate, never held back on anything and anyone. She did what she wanted to do and consequences be damned. –

In the third week, Malia decided to talk back to Morrell, mostly out of boredom than anything. And of course, because she had been caught by Morrell when she had been hurling her intestines out in the ladies room the previous week. The shrink proposed a few things for her… hypnosis, medicines and a sleep regiment. Of course, she was also asked to get out of her room and try making friends.

She agreed to the hypnosis, agreed to focus on her voice alone and count backwards from 100 to zero and acknowledged that it probably worked to some degree because she lost a bit of her time and when she came to, it was to a confused Morrell. Something about the look on the shrink’s face pleased Malia greatly, mostly because she was always so prim, calm and collected and never showed much emotion but the look of surprise gave Malia some confirmation that she was indeed, a human. Apparently, she had jerked herself awake before Morrell could pry anything out of her beyond the fact that she was guilty about the accident. That much was obvious.

The drugs had been much more effective because as far as socialisation went, she threw more punches in people’s faces than she actually talked to them and that consequentially meant, she made no friends. Unless of course, one would like to call the people she did that group counselling thing Morrell forced her into, with.

And so, life in Eichen House, for a whole month, went by without much activity beyond the usual suicide and punch in a douchebag’s face.  
XXxxxXxxXxxxXxxXxxXx

Scott’s life, wasn’t as uneventful as that.

He wished it was, but it wasn’t. First, he had met a girl who for all intents and purposes, looked beautiful and… well, human. But apparently, she wasn’t. that was good. That was okay… he could handle that. He could handle the fact that some ninjas that came out of the shadows and vanished during the day, were walking around town and checking for sure which person was possessed by a dark and void fox spirit and which one wasn’t.

Hell, he could handle the fact that the Sheriff station had been bombed, that Coach Finstock was in the hospital because an arrow had been shot right through his stomach. He can handle the fact that Isaac Lahey was in the hospital for burns and damages caused by severe electrocution and he sure as hell could handle the fact that just about 24 hours ago, he had a katana twisting and turning in his gut.

He could handle all that. What he couldn’t handle, was the person behind that. The face attached to all those awful deeds and the knowledge that there was no way Stiles, in his right senses –and even in his wrong senses because let’s face it, half the time, the human spaz was way out of his normal sense – would do any of those things. He revved his engine, a certain amount of urgency driving him as he rode his dirt bike to Eichen House where he needed to be at the moment. It took him less than 10 minutes to get there but those minutes were the most excruciatingly slow ones he has ever had to live. Finally, he dismounted, pulling his helmet off his head as he watched the two guilty parties before him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He hadn’t meant for his tone to be accusatory but under the circumstances, who could blame him?

“Because we wanted to avoid something like this.” Sheriff Stilinski said in an attempt to remain the cool, collected dad he usually was.

“It’s only 72 hours.” Stiles added, very much aware that Scott was not just going to bow down. Newfound optimism and all that.

“This is the same place where Barrow came from. The guy who had a tumour inside him filled with flies.” He tried to explain but seeing Stiles’ ‘you’re not gonna change my mind’ look, he turned to the Sheriff, hoping to appeal to his emotions. “You don’t know everything yet.”

That didn’t work. “I know enough. Nogitsunes, Kitsunes, Oni, or whatever they’re called.” The Sheriff replied, rebuffing Scott’s statement.

“Wow, that was actually all surprisingly correct.” Stiles tried to lighten the mood.

That didn’t work either. Turns out Stiles got his stubbornness from the Sheriff. “Scott, I looked at an MRI exactly like my wife’s and it terrified me. I’m heading down to L.A tomorrow to talk to a specialist.”

“Then why are you putting him in here?” Scott couldn’t fathom it.

“He’s not. It was my decision.” Stiles answered, groaning internally as he waited for Scott’s wounded expression.

And Scott didn’t disappoint as he turned woeful eyes on his best friend. “Stiles, I can’t help you if you’re in here.”

“And I can’t hurt you.” This much, Stiles Stilinski was determined about. The vision of him twisting the katana into Scott’s body, no matter how hazy and blurry, is the kind of thing his nightmares are supposed to be made of, not his reality.

“Deaton’s got some ideas, Argent’s calling some people. We’re going to find something. And if we can’t…” Scott’s words trailed off.

“If you can’t… if you can’t, then you have to do something for me ok? Make sure I never get out.” Stiles finished his statement with conviction.

Scott McCall was left standing there, not wanting to risk the emotional goodbye that was bound to happen if he walked into Eichen house with Stiles.

“Now most of the people here are okay. The violent ones are in the closed unit. That’s Hillary, she has OCD. That’s Gary, he thinks he’s Jesus Christ. That’s Dan, also Jesus… that’s Mary…” Oliver explained to Stiles after a night in the hospital wing. 

“Mary Magdalene?” He chipped in a little half-heartedly. What a great welcome too he got. Someone had committed suicide right in front of him and he had stayed up all night listening to the sounds from the entire building because he had forgotten his pillow and Eichen House was a blasted sound forest for all he knew.

“No. she also thinks she’s Jesus. You’d be surprised how many Jesuses we get.” Oliver replied calmly.

“Not really.” Stiles wasn’t calm. Well, to be fair, on a normal day when he wasn’t fighting over his consciousness with a sociopathic demon, he wasn’t calm so it’ll be a little unrealistic to expect calmness in his current state of mind. In any case, hearing that weird girl – Meredith, Oliver had said her name was Meredith – talking on a phone that turned out to be disconnected, only hyped him up more, if that was even possible. He turned around to go and was more than happy when he saw what felt like a very familiar person. “Malia?” She turned around. Yup. It was definitely her. Stiles smiled at the werecoyote. “Hey, it’s Stiles. Do you remember me? I’m friends with Scott. Remember we were the ones who helped you with –” Malia’s fist connected with his jaw and knocked the rest of his words into his throat.

Before he realized he was down there on the floor, cheek pressed against metal bars that revealed another familiar sight. But this one didn’t give him the happy feeling seeing Malia had given him and from what he could hear, he wasn’t Malia’s first victim. Kinda makes one wonder, really. Enough to get his mind off the basement for a while.

“I want to go back to the topic of guilt today. It might surprise you to hear me say that guilt is a good thing. It’s a rather mature emotion. Malia, you said something about guilt the other day. You said it came with a visceral reaction.” Morell, who just happens to be everywhere, conveniently, introduced the topic for the day’s discussion. Stiles had no ide why he was part of this discussion to begin with. He was only going to be there for three days and there was no reason he should be treated as the really crazy ones. And yet, he paid attention long enough to be surprised when Malia actually responded to Morrell. At some point between the punch in his face and this farce of a session, he imagined his perception other had changed from the sweet, helpless girl who needed protection to the rude girl who threw punches fearlessly.

He blacked out at some point it seems because one minute he was telling Morrell how guilt made him feel and the next, the class was ending and Morrell was silently commanding him to follow her. All he had to do was stay awake, she had said. Of course, she had said a few things that Stiles would really like not to think about but this one had been easy. He had to stay awake no matter what. Rushing to the boy’s bathroom, he hunched over a sink, scooping up water to aid in taking his pills and nearly had a heart attack when he looked up.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. You didn’t just accidentally walk into the girls’ room.” Malia called from the shower. 

“Thank God.” Stiles muttered, feeling relieved. “Uhmm okay so what are you doing in the boys’ room?”

“Showering.” Malia kept her answer short and precise.

“I can see that.” Stiles replied. “I mean I saw that. Well actually I didn’t see anything, really… I just… there was too much steam to uh, not that I would prefer there to be less steam…” He was going to kill himself with the words that were going to spill out of his mouth, Stiles was sure of it.

Malia had to relieve him of his misery. “Stiles, I don’t care. In the woods, there was no boys’ and girls’ room. And if you really want to know, they keep the water temperature in the girls’ room too low. It’s much hotter in here. Ever since I turned back to human, I just can’t seem to get warm.”

“Maybe you just have a low core temp. you know, you might just be sick or…”

“I used to have a fur coat.” She chipped in calmly.

“Or it could be… Hey, it might be that. It’s probably that.”

Malia shut off the shower and stepped out, naked as day and not bothered by it. If anything, she was quite confident in her own skin. “Now you’re staring.” 

“No, I’m not.” Stiles replied even though they both knew he had been staring at her.

“Then what are you doing?” She asks, wrapping a towel around her finally.

“Whew… I was kind of wondering why you punched me.” He could now turn to her and asked her genuinely about that. Besides, she seemed to be in a better mood than before so he imagined he won’t lose a limb just yet.

“Did you think I was going to thank you?” She asked, not hiding her incredulence.

“No. maybe. We did kind of save your life.”

“You’re right, Stiles. Thank you. Thank you for invading my home, for putting me on the run, for turning me back to human so I could look at my father every day and try to figure out how to explain to him that the reason my mother and sister are dead, is because I almost ate them on a full moon. Thank you so very much.” Only a fool would not perceive the amount of sarcasm that was spilling from her words.

Stiles Stilinski was not a fool. He looked down guiltily. “We were just trying to help.”

“You want to help me? Find a way to change me back.” Malia half growled, half spit out, and still with a straight face.

“You want to go back? To being a coyote?” Stiles asked, disbelievingly. How is it possible for a human being to opt to be an animal. It didn’t make sense to him but he imagined many of the things that made sense to Malia probably made zero sense to him.

“What do you know?” Malia was in his face, eyes searching.

“I might know somebody who could teach you. How to change.”

“What do you want?” She wasn’t above selling half of her soul for that. Or torturing Stiles for it but she wanted to be a little civilized first. 

The plan had been a good one. She would distract Burunski long enough for Stiles to steal the keys to the basement so he can go and do whatever it is that he thought can only be done there. She did not ask questions about what he wanted because really, she could care less about him or his plans. All she wanted, was to be able to shift back into a coyote again and not only get that warmth she so craved, but also to escape thoughts, dreams and nightmares of her tearing her own family to shreds.

Of course, like all good plans, the universe had to step in and fuck things up. It took longer than was necessary for her and Stiles to meet, a period during which she wondered which one of the teens she had previously seen Stiles with, was going to be the one to help her. Of course, a part of her mind told her it could as well be an age-old, wrinkly and frail old man living in a network of caves down in the woods but for some reason, her thoughts kept going back to him… the first face she had seen when she came to, eyes glowing a bright, dominant read before dimming down to a somewhat more ardent, brown.

She was not sentimental, just confused as to why se still remembered eyes that she had only seen for less than two seconds. She remembered them, from the small wrinkle at the corner of his left eye that she imagined was from years of smiling so broadly, to the birthmark right at the corner of his right eye that made them look like he had applied a little bit of eyeliner. She remembered the splashes of gold that sparkled in those eyes _–or maybe that was just her imagination –_.

“There’s another way to the basement. Through the closed unit. Where they keep the real psychos.” She whispered as she all but dragged Stiles into the basement. He looked as desperate as she felt and she imagined that made them quite the pair. They finally stepped into the basement and started to look around desperately but she had a feeling whatever it is that Stiles had hoped to find, it wasn’t there. All they found was evidence that patients had to go through electroshock, ice baths and trepanations and Stiles confirms that by sharing something Oliver told him about people having holes in their heads. If for nothing at all, she was sure she wanted to get out of this nuthouse. Who knows at what point they will decide to drug her and drill a giant hole into her head.

Stiles sighed dejectedly and moved to sit on the couch in the basement. It was dirty and unhygienic but Malia was starting to get used to the living conditions of this place. Carefully, in a manner that is unlike her, she moved to sit beside him on the couch. It took a while but when Stiles finally acknowledged her, he turned his back to her and asked that she check some lines on his back and report to him whether they are fading. She looks, and thinking that was a positive thing, she says they're almost gone. Based on his reaction though, she guessed that's bad and she had been wrong. He makes a small scared sound, and then when she pulls his shirt down jumps a little at her cold fingers. Malia heard herself apologizing without meaning to. Somehow, she wasn’t really familiar with the feeling, neither did she think her cold temperature was her fault so it made very little sense to her when she heard herself mumbling a sombre; "I told you I'm always cold." 

Stiles turned around, a small smile on his face and takes her hands in his and tries to warm them up with his breath. She stares at him, surprised and a little taken aback by the somewhat simple act. It happened fast. Perhaps, years or curiosity before she became a were coyote, or some other force at work but whatever the reason, she leans in and kisses him on the lips. She was uncertain and it showed. That, and the heavy bout of confusion he smelled momentarily from Stiles, caused her to pull back. She was ready to apologize for invading his space and taking advantage of him but instead he asked if it was her first kiss and if it was ok. She nodded when asked if she wanted to do it again.

This time it was Stiles that leaned in and slowly captured Malia’s lips in a kiss that had Malia’s heart literally skipping a beat. She didn’t know it was supposed to feel this way but she wasn’t complaining about that. Slowly, and almost tentatively as though afraid to break the moment, Malia felt her hand rise up to cup Stiles’ cheek. She shifted, lips parting willingly under Stiles’ gentle probing and moaned when she felt his tongue invade her mouth an brush against hers. Her pulse was quickening and an excitement was filling her body, starting slowly from hr toes and crawling all the way to her midsection until she could barely breath.

She bit into her bottom lip to steady her flaring emotions and announced with a tone filled with determination; “I want to try something else.” Before pulling off her shirt. She looked at Stiles to make sure the other guy knew exactly what she meant to do. It was wrong, she was aware, and was about to apologize for taking advantage of the situation but Stiles leaned in again and captured her lips in a searing kiss which she understood as agreement on his part. She fell back onto the couch and felt Stiles move till he was hovering over her. Their fingers locked together as she involuntarily grind up into him. Her bra came off next, followed by his shirt.

The skin-to-skin contact set her nerve endings on fire in a good way. Their moans and sighs filled the basement. She felt Stiles… everywhere, and discovered in herself a curiosity she didn’t know she had as her hand searched all over his back and chest. She felt that tension that had gathered in her midsection earlier start to crawl up her chest in an alarmingly fast rate till he was pushing Stiles off and running to the other end of the room to hurl her guts out.

The discomfort soon morphed into pain that had her clutching her midsection. Somehow, in the midst of it all, she felt Stiles’ reassuring hand on her back. She didn’t know when it stopped hurting so bad but she felt Stiles helping her slowly back to the couch and holding her in a spooning position. “I’m a freak.” She mumbled after what felt like days to her.

“No you’re not…” Stiles replied almost immediately.

“You’re just saying that.” She mumbled, turning her face into his arm which was tucked comfortingly under her head.

“I mean it.” Stiles reaffirmed, his free hand rubbing slowly up and down her arms. He had mixed feelings about their current situation; a part of him was glad they didn’t go any further because admittedly, this was just a bad situation and he really did not think both of them losing their virginity on a beaten down couch that had probably witnessed many a deaths, was appropriate or fair to them, especially him after all those years of holding out. The other part of him, was thinking about how unfair it is that he never seems to be able to get rid of his virgin status no matter how hard he tried. Scott didn’t try at all but seems to have no problem in that department.

Stiles snapped out of his reverie when he heard Malia’s whispered: “Yeah, and how many girls have you been with that hurl their guts out just because they have been kissed?”

“Very few, actually… honestly, just you.” Stiles replied, then fearing that Malia will take this the wrong way, he added. “I’ve not been with a lot of girls… the one girl I was going to… well, be with, ended up dead, so…”

Malia shifted in the couch, turning around onto her back so she can have a better view of him. “You’re being serious?”

“Yeah”

“I’m sorry about that… and this… I really don’t get why…”

“It’s not your fault... It just–

Malia suddenly jumped up, an idea popping up in her head about where to find a better clue based on that mark she had seen on Stiles when their clothes were coming off earlier. Not wanting Stiles to panic and think she was about to puke again, she turned to him and grabbed her shirt, “Well come on…” before shrugging it on. She knocks on the wall, and it sounds hollow, Stiles grabbing a pipe to break the wall open.

Inside, they find the mummified body of…. Well, something. The things found on the… previous man, didn’t make much sense to her but she imagined it made sense to Stiles because the human had a look on his face that he didn’t have earlier when they were going through the files earlier. Malia reached into the mummy’s pocket and pulls out a photo. "Recognize them?" she says as she hands the photo to Stiles. 

"One of them," Stiles replies. 

It was the last thing she registered before she felt her hole body go into shock and the world shut down before her eyes. 

Malia slowly comes to, realizing that she was strapped to a chair. It takes a while but finally, she managed to croak out Stiles’ name. When he turned around, something about his smile told her not to try or continue this conversation. She stayed there, quietly watching as he moved around the basement as though looking for something before he finally left the basement. Malia waited a while after he had left before freeing herself and moving to the hollow in the wall and taking everything she could find from the body before leaving.

She alerted Brunski to seeing Oliver going towards the basement earlier because she really was not in the mood to drag the still unconscious boy’s body with her. Her next stop after alerting Brunski was to go to the admins office and check herself out. One phone call to her father was all it took because it turned out Henry Tate really wanted his daughter home and just the _miracle_ of her calling him was enough to agree to the sign out.

It happened faster than she thought it would and by noon the next day, she was all packed _– not that there was much to pack, anyway –._ She was almost at the end of the main hallway when she sensed someone behind her and barely had time to turn when she heard Morrell’s familiar voice.

"Do you know where you're going?" she asks. 

“No, but I know who I’m looking for.” At this point, she refused to be fooled that Morrell was just a shrink. That woman knows something and if she needed a confirmation of that, her next words did just that.

“Scott McCall.”

Stiles hadn’t managed to tell her with specific words that Scott would be the one to help but she was sure in her being that he was the one she was supposed to see.

Beacon Hills high school, captain of the Lacrosse team, son of Melissa McCall – nurse at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital – works at Beacon Hills Animal Clinic… this guy seems to be everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying my hands on another Scalia fic. After the last one I wrote, I've had a bit of a writers' block partly due to stress from work so this might be slow on the updating.
> 
> Also, I'm relatively new to writing F/M pairings and it's quite difficult than expected, lol.
> 
> I have been plotting this for weeks now but I’m still having a few loopholes to fill. Do feel free to tell me what you think and also drop prompts for the next chapters.


End file.
